Amending Fate
by Kikoughela
Summary: Sequel of "Timelines" listed under ST:TNG. Necessary to read that story first. In "Amending Fate" we follow Deidre, Gul Mosel, and Picard as they attempt to alter the timeline and subvert the Romulan plot. Garak, Bashir, and OC's play supporting roles.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Sequel (or 'Part Two') of "Timelines" listed under ST:TNG, rating T. Probably necessary to read that story first. In "Amending Fate" we continue to follow Deidre O'Malley, Gul Mosel, and Captain Picard as they attempt to alter the timeline and subvert the Romulan plot (and we actually find out what that plot is! Squee!). Garak, Dr. Bashir, and a few off-kilter OC's make appearances, as well.

Disclaimer: Let me reiterate: Star Trek and its subsidiaries ain't mine, don't own em'. Any name you don't recognize from the series=all mine. All the rest are borrowed from their respective owners (Paramount & Co., etc.).

Rating: Again with the bloody ratings. M, ok, it's M. Down and dirty For the most part. Enjoy.

Amending Fate: Chapter One

The Replimat was crowded this particular noontide, Dr. Bashir thought, no doubt about that. Despite the close quarters, he nevertheless found a table tucked away along the edge of the Promenade. It must be his lucky day, he mused, carrying his plate to the table and claiming it. Now, if only Garak would be on time, then he would be able to eat relatively unhurried and still have time for dessert before returning to the Infirmary. His luck seemed to continue as he soon observed his friend making his way through the throng of pedestrians on the Promenade. Standing slightly, Bashir waved to the tailor, who nodded back in acknowledgement.

"My," Garak said, having finally meandered his way through (most people tended to step out of his way when they noticed his Cardassian ridges). "It certainly is crowded today." Setting his plate on the table, he took his seat with wearied ease.

"Yes, it is," Bashir replied, tucking eagerly into his Szechwan style noodles. He never started eating before Garak arrived and noticed that his friend always paid him the same courtesy. It was just manners, really. "The _Enterprise_ docked this morning," Julian continued, spearing a piece of pork, "that must explain it. I have a meeting with their doctor this afternoon. She wants to update her medical files on the Bajoran immuno-deficiency response system. Apparently, I've become a bit of an expert."

"As well you should be," Garak complimented, picking at his plate. "I'm sure living on this station has been instructive. The Bajorans are such a…fragile race, wouldn't you say? Always coming down with some ailment or another." Garak feigned a sigh into his pudding, glancing surreptitiously at Bashir to see if he took the bait.

"Now Garak," the doctor began, and Garak had to suppress a pleased grin. He never tired of this game. "I can't believe you would take so callous and unreasonable a view," the doctor continued. "The Bajoran constitution is remarkably hearty, but with sixty years of poor health care and almost non-existent medical facilities, it's not surprising they are more susceptive to communicable diseases."

"I am aware of their circumstances, doctor," Garak continued, "but it really is no excuse. Take Cardassians, for example. How often have I come into your infirmary with a sniffle or a cough? Never, as you well know. And do I take any preventative medication? Not at all. Now, I see your skepticism, but I am a firm believer that healthy eating and brisk exercise several times a week wards off any ill-health."

Bashir rolled his eyes. He shoveled another bite into his mouth, a noodle hanging loosely down his chin. He slurped it between his lips, much to Garak's amusement, before continuing. "I completely agree," he said, having chomped and swallowed quickly. "With a balanced diet and exercise, the body can maintain a permanent level of good health, however…"and here his voice trailed off as his eye caught something on the Promenade.

Garak noticed that Bashir's mouth had dropped open slightly and that his eyes gleamed. He knew from repeated observation that it was a spark reserved only for particularly difficult medical cases and particularly beautiful women. Based on their locale, Garak assumed it could only be the latter, and was pleased to find he was correct as Bashir slowly regained his senses.

"Now that," Julian remarked, "is an extraordinarily beautiful woman." Not meaning to disregard Garak, Bashir nevertheless found that he could not tear his eyes away as the woman easily made her way through the crowd. She held herself well, Julian noted: her gait and her carriage were carried with self-reliant authority and poise. She bore a crown of dark hair pinned loosely back; and her light skin was remarkably offset by her dark ensemble. From this distance, Julian could not distinguish the material: perhaps it was silk, maybe leather, but it hardly mattered, as her jacket and pants encased her splendidly. In all, she was a stunning and thoroughly arousing sight. If Jadzia Dax was a handsome coquette, he marveled, this woman was a goddess. And suddenly, as if sensing the admiring eyes on her, she turned her head and glared at him.

Garak was well aware of his friend's thoughts as Bashir's eyes flickered and glistened in partially-veiled lust. He sighed. Well, if he must pretend to ogle some beautiful woman in order to continue their conversation, so be it. There were far worse fates. Garak twisted around and searched the Promenade. Almost immediately, despite the multitudes lingering about, he found the object of his friend's desire. She was difficult to overlook, that much was certain. As Garak ran his eyes over her figure, recognition and dread seeped into his stomach. And when she turned her head to stare at their table, he noted that her face also held the same recognition of him. His heart leapt into his throat and lodged itself there. Just as he thought life on the Bajoran station had settled into a comfortable routine, here was someone to disturb it. Nanette had arrived.

Bashir gasped suddenly. "Garak, did you see that?" he exclaimed. "She just nodded at us. And now she's coming over. Oh hell, what am I going to say?"

Garak murmured, "Say nothing at all, doctor. Believe me, say nothing." His eyes never dared to leave her face, which now held a rather sinister smirk. Against his will (Cardassian discipline be damned, he thought, there were some situations even he couldn't control), his heart thumped in anticipation.

Bashir glanced at him, puzzled. "Whatever do you mean, Garak? She's gorgeous. Do you think she arrived on the _Enterprise_?"

"I would find that highly unlikely," Garak said. Almost next to impossible, he added, silently. If he knew Nanette, and he did, intimately, her business here was not appropriate for Starfleet. He sensed then, in the depths of his intuition, that his life had departed its new-found normalcy, and subsequently, things were about to get very interesting. Either that, or very, very bad. Garak did not know, at the moment, which option he preferred. Still, he was secretly pleased to see Nanette after nearly a decade. Disturbed, aggravated, and shocked, that much was true as well, but it hardly mattered. The time for his comeuppance had arrived at last. He grinned just as sinisterly as she.

Nanette continued toward their table but as she came within a few yards, her way was blocked by Constable Odo. As Garak and Bashir watched, intrigued, the shapeshifter rose in front of her and crossed his arms, glaring imperiously. Though the lunch companions were too far away to hear their words above the din of the crowd, they could guess the sentiment. Odo apparently said something, and the woman, Nanette, nodded. Odo, his back to Garak and Bashir, suddenly grasped her arm. She smiled, as if mildly amused (though Garak knew by her posture, so familiar to him even after all these years, that she was anything but pleased at Odo's interruption). Still, she allowed Odo to lead her away, presumably to his security office, and as they disappeared into the crowd, Bashir sighed at his bad luck.

"Well, I wonder what _that_ was all about," Julian said, picking up his fork again. "She was stunning. I wonder what Odo could be thinking."

Garak laughed suddenly, though it was not a benevolent one, and Bashir glared at him. "My dear doctor," Garak said, his laughter subsiding only somewhat, "your naïveté is refreshing, I'll give you that." The Cardassian laughed again and shook his head. His young friend eyed him with that disgruntled frown.

"Sometimes I really don't understand you, Garak," Bashir said. But, Julian supposed, as he observed Garak's eyes, which held a rather unsettling glint, sometimes that was for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

Amending Fate: Chapter Two

Captain Jean-Luc Picard appraised the Bajoran Wormhole from Deep Space Nine's Operation Center view-screen. It was his first time viewing it in action and the wormhole certainly was living up to its reputation for beauty. It really is incredible, he thought, as the passageway to the Gamma Quadrant emerged from empty space in a brilliant flash. A small cargo ship had arrived through the wormhole and he recognized it as Denobulan. Typical business at the Bajoran station, he assumed; dozens of separate species going about their routines, engaging in commerce, trafficking goods and exchanging cultures. He had to marvel at the wonderful opportunity this phenomenon had created, not just for Starfleet but for the entire Alpha Quadrant. Picard considered himself fortunate (and not just a little proud) to live in such a dynamic and exploratory period. Only Columbus's expeditions to the New World could match it, he thought with a grin. He almost envied his former Chief's position on the station. O'Brien certainly was a lucky man.

However, Picard was here only to observe, Starfleet having sent the _Enterprise _to Deep Space Nine for a brief stop-over on their way to the Arcadian system. While the ship was busy having its warp coils updated, Picard had the opportunity to speak with station's senior staff regarding operations. Turning to the station's commander, Benjamin Sisko (who, despite their rocky introduction nearly two years ago, had finally and inexplicably warmed to him), Picard motioned for him to continue with the demonstration. Sisko stepped forward and motioned to the view-screen, his manner completely professional.

"We've been unable, for the most part, to determine what exactly causes the wormhole to remain constant," Sisko said, his attention on the now-closing wormhole, "although we believe verteron nodes play a significant role in maintaining its stability."

"Yes, it's fascinating," Picard said, bemused. Of course, this was all in the report on the phenomenon distributed by Starfleet. It was clear that Sisko planned on going by the book, but for what purpose, Picard could only guess. "I understand the Bajorans also call it the 'Celestial Temple'," he continued, trying to draw Sisko into a more animated discussion, but the officer still seemed reluctant.

Major Kira, who manned her station nearby, had followed the conversation and took the opportunity to interrupt. "Yes, sir, that's correct" she said, stepping from her platform. Picard nodded for her to continue, as Commander Sisko's answer did not seem to be forthcoming. Kira glanced briefly at Sisko, but just as she was to speak, the lights flickered, once, twice, and then they died completely.

In the sudden dark, the crew scrambled to their stations.

Picard's first instinct was to start barking orders, but he reconsidered it just as his mouth opened, and he shut it as quickly. He certainly did not want to step on Commander Sisko's toes. The man was territorial over his station. To his relief, he had only seconds to wait for a response.

"Major Kira, report!" Sisko shouted over the crew's alarmed chatter. "Why haven't the secondary systems come on?"

In the dark, Kira tripped on the step to her platform and collided into her consol. "I don't know, sir!" she yelled, clambering to her controls. Her shin ached dreadfully and she would need the bump on her head examined, but now was not the time to dwell. She pounded on her blank consol in frustration. "This whole terminal is out! I can't get a reading on anything."

On the opposite side of Ops, Jadzia Dax shook her head, although in dark the motion passed unnoticed. Her consol had maintained limited response readings, and she said as much. "The sensors aren't detecting any interference. The rest of the station is unaffected."

"Chief O'Brien!" Sisko barked, his eyes searching the dark blindly for his Chief of Operations.

"Here sir," O'Brien grunted, knocking his head against the underside of a conduit terminal. He had immediately dived for one after the lights flickered, but his diagnostics revealed nothing. "There's nothing causing it," he said, irritated. "The systems are operating normally. It's like the impulses aren't getting from the conduits to the lights. And it's the same with the backups." He ducked his head under the terminal again.

Picard heard the frustration in his former Chief's voice. He tapped his comm. badge, ready to raise the _Enterprise_ for a report from their sensors. Before he could speak, the lights flickered again and Ops was abruptly illuminated. Terminals across the room resumed normal functions as if they were never interrupted.

Kira looked down at her station and lifted her hands. The controls flashed in their usual pattern. "Well," she said, glancing at Sisko, who raised his eyebrows, "that was odd."

Before he could respond, panic swept over Kira's face and she tapped her comm. badge. "Security to Ops!" If she had been wearing a phaser, she would have pulled it, but instead she pointed urgently over Picard's shoulder.

Alarmed, the captain swung about. Not sure what he expected to see, he was surprised to encounter not a raging beast or armed invasion party, but a lone Cardassian. At first glance, Picard checked his instinct to fight or flight instantly. This man could not possibly harm him. He was thin—too thin—and his long hair was matted and tangled. Over his ridged brow and eye socket ran a deep scar that extended to his lip, the left side of his face disfigured. The Cardassian glared at him from his lone blue eye, and Picard would almost swear that he recognized the man.

As he stared, a woman emerged behind the Cardassian, and Picard's shoulders went rigid. He exhaled harshly. The woman's expression was lean and grim, her clothes and hair dirty, but he knew her face.

"Deidre?" he whispered. A moment later he discerned the wrinkles around her eyes, the crinkles in her forehead and the hardened lines at her mouth. Her hair grayed at the temples. It was impossible; the Deidre O'Malley he knew was barely over thirty. Yet here this woman stood, with the same rounded shoulders, blond hair, and determined jaw, and with a Cardassian—could it really be Gul Mosel?—at her side

She nodded, slowly. "Aye, Jean-Luc." She held up her hands, dirt-creased palms outward. "We didn't mean to alarm you." Wearily, she nodded her head, pleading. Picard was momentarily at a loss for words.

Sisko stepped forward, his glance shifting between Picard, Deidre and the silent Cardassian. "Captain, do you know these people?" Sisko did not want to endanger his station, but neither did he want to step on Picard's toes. The man had a certain reputation.

Picard nodded briskly, but before he could speak, Miles popped his head up from under his terminal and gave a cry.

O'Brien rushed down the stairs. "Good Lord, Deidre! What the hell happened to you?" He could scarcely believe his eyes, his face taut. He examined her, shocked, and then he glanced at the man beside her. He stopped short.

"Please, Miles!" Deidre threw up her hands in front of her in warning. "Don't come any nearer until we've been disinfected. It isn't safe!" Panic flashed over her face.

Kira observed the discombobulated conversation from her consol with increasing irritation. "Will someone _please_ explain what's going on here?" She glared down at the Cardassian. "Who are you?"

The man sneered, but Miles answered for him. "Gul Mosel?" It came out almost as a gasp. O'Brien glanced to Picard and they shared a cautious look.

With a snort, Mosel's scarred lip curled in derision. "I haven't been called that in over ten years, O'Brien," he said, clasping his hands calmly before him. He turned his attention to Jean-Luc and nodded. "Captain Picard," he continued, and Picard noted that when he spoke, his upper lip did not cover the left side of his teeth. The effect was menacing. "We came here to speak with you. Our errand is urgent."

Picard's eyes could not leave his face. "Where did you come from?" he said, having finally ordered his thoughts. "Are you responsible for our power outage?"

Mosel and Deidre shared a glance. As if having decided something, she turned to Jean-Luc and took a step forward, obviously as near as she dared.

"Yes, I darkened the lights," she confessed. "Forgive me for alarming you, but you must understand. We've come from the future," she said. She heard his sudden intake of breath. "You must listen to us," she urged, frowning and taking another small step forward. "There are things you need to hear. Will you speak with us, sir? Please?" She begged him with her eyes.

Sisko, like Major Kira, had been observing with increasing unease. "What the hell is going on here?" he said at last, coming to stand by Picard. "Sir, can you please explain this?" And where the hell was security, he wondered, irritated.

"I'm not sure I can," Picard said, his eyes on Deidre. "This is impossible."

She scoffed. "Oh, Jean-Luc, you know very well the _limits_ of impossibility."

Picard considered her for a moment. She reminded him of the woman plucked from space nearly three years ago, against all the odds, but her haggard appearance and her worn voice was not that of his friend. Still, her eyes held the same glint and they stared at him unnervingly.

If only to escape from her gaze, he agreed. "All right," he said. "We'll beam you to the infirmary, and then we'll have a meeting."

Her frown relaxed into a small, pleased smile. "Good," she said and then she looked behind Mosel. "There's one more thing, Jean-Luc." She motioned again with her hand. "Come out, girl, they can see you."

Picard raised his eyebrows as a young woman stepped out from behind Mosel. Jean-Luc's eyes widened. He knew for certain there was no one there a moment ago, and the general gasps and exclamations around Ops confirmed his surprise. She had appeared from nowhere, much as the others had.

Clutching Mosel's arm, the girl lingered halfway behind him, glancing furtively around the group. Mosel brought his arm up and encircled her shoulders.

"Our daughter, Gormlaith," he said, his expression guarded.

Picard studied the girl. Her face was distinctly half Cardassian, her ridges less pronounced than her father's. She was obviously on the bloom of woman-hood, though her eyes were weary. The dress she wore barely skimmed her ankles and it fit tight across her shoulders. He shook his head. "Your daughter can't be more than three years old!"

The girl stepped suddenly forward, aggrieved. "I _am_ Gormlaith," she insisted. She squared her shoulders and glared at Picard.

Mosel sighed angrily. "We're wasting time," he interrupted. He put his hand on Gormlaith's shoulder and drew her back. "Please, transport us to sickbay, and we'll answer all your questions. For all our sakes, captain," and Mosel looked grimly at Picard. "Do as we ask."

"Very well," he said, his confusion mounting. Picard turned to Sisko. "Have us beamed to your infirmary, commander."

Sisko gritted his teeth. This certainly was stepping on toes, no doubt about that. Nevertheless, it was an order from a superior officer. "Yes, sir," he said. "You heard the captain, Chief O'Brien."

"Yes, sir," Miles said, as he hesitated between Sisko and the transporter terminal. He took up his controls and looked at Deidre. "It's good to have you back," he said.

"You may want to reconsider that, Miles," she said. She eyed him sadly

Sisko glanced at Picard. "One more thing, captain," Sisko said. "I'm coming with you." It was a respectful glance, but one that brokered no argument. "I'll not have this group running amuck on _my_ station." He tapped his badge. "Security to the infirmary."

"I'm glad that's settled," Mosel snapped. "Now, if you please, O'Brien." He glared at the Chief. "Time is wasting."


	3. Chapter 3

Amending Fate: Chapter Three

In the Security Office, Constable Odo leaned back in his chair and leisurely reviewed his guest's security profile. The woman, Nanette, sat before him, hands folded neatly in her lap, with one ankle tucked under the other. She seemed perfectly poised, and this irritated Odo. Normally, when he brought criminals into his office, they fidgeted and denied any involvement in crime—and this was before he actually accused him. This woman merely watched him with her large, dark eyes, absolutely congenial.

He clicked off his screen and crossed his arms. "Well, Miss Nanette—no last name," he said, leaning forward, "I have a few questions for you." Her security profile from Starfleet, vague as it was, burned an eager hole through his hands. But he was patient. It would all emerge in time.

She dipped her head slightly. "I would imagine that is why I'm here, Constable," she replied amicably, much to Odo's distaste. "How may I assist you?" She gave him a little smile.

Odo let a few seconds pass, letting his silence unnerve her. Unsuccessfully, he noted. "My deputy informs me that when you came aboard the station from the Klingon freighter _Umlak_, you short-circuited our weapon detector in the airlock."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Really?" She held up her gloved hands in mock surprise. "Now, I don't mean to be biased, but Constable, I'm a woman. I have absolutely no sense of such things. I can't tell an isolinear rod from a subprocessor."

"Uh huh," Odo grunted. He motioned to the wall monitor. "I've reviewed the security footage from the incident." Seeing that she looked toward the monitor, he replayed the moments when she came aboard from the freighter.

"You see that blue flash?" he asked. She merely raised her brows again. "That's what damaged our sensors. What device did you use to disable it?" He expected her to start sweating, fidgeting, anything, but she held up her hands again.

"Really, constable. It looks as if it short-circuited on its own," she said. "Frankly, it appears that I narrowly escaped being electrocuted. We must thank fate for small favors that I was not injured when _your_ equipment malfunctioned."

Odo harrumphed again. He decided to interrogate her from another route. "You didn't arrive with any luggage. Do you plan on staying here long?"

She sighed grandly. "Alas, I haven't had a valet in _ages_. It encourages a woman to travel light." She sighed again, fluttering her hands. "I'm here to visit a few old friends. Surely you can understand my eagerness to join them. This entire exercise is unnecessary."

"I disagree," Odo said, rising from his chair. He put his hands on the desk and leaned over, at this point hoping that his sheer physical presence would intimidate her. Her dark eyes hardened.

"Really, constable, this is entirely unwarranted," she said, having dropped her convivial tone. At that moment, the door chime sounded.

"Come in!" Odo barked. The doors slid open and Garak the tailor appeared. The man paused in the doorway and nodded his head, eyes shifting between Odo and Nanette.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Garak said, but entered the office nevertheless.

Had Odo been looking at Nanette, he would have perceived a slight smile at the sound of Garak's voice. But the constable eyed Garak instead, irritated at his inopportune arrival.

"Can I help you, Garak?" Odo snapped.

Garak approached Nanette's chair and smiled. "I heard that you had detained my visitor, and I thought I would come by to clear up any misunderstandings." He slid his hand predatorily onto Nanette's shoulder and cupped the back of her neck. Nanette stared at Odo with an understated smirk.

Odo glanced between them, confused. He glared at Nanette. "You are here to visit _Garak_?" Amused, she dipped her head slightly.

"Really, constable," Garak simpered, "is it so surprising that I have a guest?" Garak tsked and shook his head.

"I wasn't aware that you were acquainted," Odo fumed. His apparent ignorance dismayed him and he scrambled to amend it.

Nanette put her hand over Garak's. She glanced up at him and blinked her long lashes playfully. He returned the look.

"Odo," Garak chided, looking at the changeling. "What nonsense. We're not mere acquaintances." His fingers tightened on Nanette's and she smiled. "We're engaged!"

Nanette turned to Odo, whose jaw had dropped peculiarly. "Dear constable, you look rather disgruntled. Isn't it wonderful?" she said. "Now really, we must be off. We have so much to discuss." She stood from her chair and shifted Garak's hand so their fingers were intertwined. "We haven't seen each other in ages."

Suddenly, the comm. activated. "Security to the infirmary."

Odo spluttered a moment, but waved his hand. "We'll talk later, Garak," he snapped. The pair nodded amicably. By Odo's leave, Garak escorted her from the office.

"Well," he said, as the door slid shut behind them. "That will keep him occupied for a few days." He chuckled.

She released his hand. "Clever lad," she murmured. To his surprise, she linked her arm through his and led him down the corridor. Garak glanced warily down at her and she met his eye.

"You haven't changed a bit," she said, and patted his arm. "It really has been too long."

Garak's lip quirked into a grin. She was infinitely amused, he could tell. He put his hand over hers. Maybe it was best to keep all hands where he could see them.

"And you're looking as ravishing as ever," he complimented.

"Elim, you liar," she chided. He would almost say her tone was affectionate, if he did not know better.

He looked aghast. "I never lie to beautiful women."

Pleased, she leaned into his shoulder. "Then you haven't learned the most important skill." At his bemused glance, she chuckled. "You should _always_ lie to beautiful women."

He laughed outright. "Then, my fair vole, shall we have a cup of tea and 'catch up', as you humans say?"

"In the Replimat," they intoned together, their ensuing laughs only partially feigned.

Escorting her chivalrously by the arm, a gesture she had always insisted upon in the past, he led her to the Replimat.


	4. Chapter 4

Amending Fate: Chapter Four

When he awoke that morning, Dr. Julian Bashir did not expect his daily schedule to be cast aside in order to examine time-travelers from the future. He considered that thought for a moment. Yes, he determined, that about summed it up.

"Now, stick out your tongue and say 'ahh'," he instructed. The girl glared at him.

"Or not," he mumbled. Trust a half-Cardassian child not to know a doctor joke when she heard one. The girl waited impatiently on the examine table in front of him.

After the motley group had transported in—much to his surprise—Bashir began a methodical examination of each. He had started with the child, at her parents' insistence. It was all done under the watchful and suspicious eyes of Sisko, Odo and his security team. He sighed. This was frontier medicine, alright.

"Gormlaith," the mother said sternly, as the child clamped her mouth stubbornly shut. "Do as the good doctor tells you." Deidre looked sympathetically at Julian. "Please, pardon her manners."

"Not at all," he said. The woman's Irish accent surprised him; he wondered if she had met Chief O'Brien yet. Putting his musings aside and concentrating on his task, he curtained off the bed from Sisko and Odo's prying eyes. "Now Gormlaith," he said, "this is going to be completely painless."

"Why would it hurt?" Gormlaith asked. She looked distinctly uncomfortable. Much to his dismay, she refused to remove her clothing at the start of the exam. He worked his way around her dingy dress as best he could—at least the transporter had taken care of the nits. Damn Cardassians and their sense of modesty. He tried not to mind the smell.

"Well," he said, sighing. Under normal circumstances, he would have one of his female nurses examine a girl of her age, but Sisko had stressed the sensitive nature of the patients' presence. Nevertheless, Bashir was glad their care was in his hands. He flashed back to his conversation with Garak on the Promenade during lunch. Even compared to the Bajorans he examined from the refugee camps, the health of his new arrivals was worrisome. What had these people gone through that had so deteriorated their health?

Bashir sighed again. "Have you ever been to a doctor before, Gormlaith?" He exchanged a look with Deidre, who nodded.

Gormlaith sighed. "Yes," she said sullenly. "When I was a child. Before everything happened."

"Gormlaith," her mother warned, but Bashir was distracted by his scans and paid the comment no heed.

"Good, so you know what's coming," he said, abstractly. For preliminaries, he felt around Gormlaith's throat and down her neck.

Deidre reached out and took Gormlaith's hand. "You'll have to forgive my daughter, doctor," she said. "A bit shy she is, when first you meet."

"Ma!" Gormlaith glared at her. "Don't embarrass me." She pulled her hand away, cheeks reddening.

"And stubborn, too," she said. "Be polite."

"It's quite all right," Bashir said, with his typical graciousness. He drew a sample of her blood and handed it off to a nurse for the usual testing.

Outside the curtained area, Mosel waited with Captain Picard. One of the Bajoran nurses had given him a stack of clean cloth and a bowl of water, just as she had given to Gormlaith before her exam, before scampering fearfully away. Picard could hardly blame her.

Mosel dipped the cloth in the water and scrubbed his face. He breathed in deeply and glanced at Picard.

"You don't have to study my every move," he said. He dried his face with another rag. "Clean water," he sighed. "You don't realize how valuable it is." Picard knew he did not say it accusingly. Mosel shook his head "You can't imagine, captain. The future." He dipped his hands in the water and washed off the first layer of grime. Scraping underneath his fingernails, he watched the dirt sift to the bottom of the bowl.

"I'm sure I can't," Picard replied. He had little idea what their arrival foreboded, but he intended to find out. For all their sakes, as Mosel had said. Deidre's appearance worried him, but that was to be expected. Although curious about Mosel and Gormlaith—whose existence perhaps surprised him most of all—he was more concerned about what this implied for the Federation. Despite her wayward arrival, Deidre obviously still felt a vestige of friendship with him, and he owed it to her to listen. Unfortunately, however, he had the feeling she expected more than just a concerned ear. And his day had started out so well, he thought. He anticipated that, sooner rather than later, he would be faced with an uncomfortable and probably impossible decision.

Mosel noticed that the captain eyed the bowl with discomfort. "Before we came here, we were staying in San Francisco," Mosel said, trying to allay Picard's anxiety. "Or, what's left of it. My first time visiting, actually. I can imagine that it was once a beautiful city."

Picard nodded. "It was—is. Why San Francisco?" he asked, with a sinking feeling. He didn't need Mosel to tell him; he could guess why.

"We were combing through the ruins of Starfleet headquarters," he replied, confirming Picard's suspicions. "You see, we didn't exactly know where to find you in the past. The now, I mean. We knew that during this period, your ship was engaged in various diplomatic missions in the sector. Fortunately, Deidre and I were able to uncover fragments of data files from the _Enterprise_ logs. They gave us a place to start looking. Good fortune carried us the rest of the way."

Picard raised his brows. "In the future, Starfleet is destroyed?" He gulped, uneasy. This situation became more distressing by the second.

"Yes." Mosel dipped another rag and wiped his neck ridges. "After the quarantine around Earth failed, riots began in the city. My wife and I were off-world at the time; but when we returned, Starfleet had already been destroyed in the aerial bombardments that followed after the quarantine broke."

"By whom?" Picard said, alarmed. "I can warn Starfleet right now if you tell me, if you just—."

"No, captain, you must not contact Starfleet," Mosel stressed this point. "All of your fuss is for naught. We'll tell you all we know, but believe me, nothing you do now will prevent it. Events have already been set in motion."

Picard frowned. "Then why are you here?" he snapped. "Why bother coming back? To gloat about our eventual destruction?" His voice and temper increased, and the others in the room gave him concerned looks.

Mosel gritted his teeth. "Captain, I am not one to gloat. Humans were not the only ones to suffer the brunt." A sort of strangled fury twisted his face. It passed so quickly Picard could hardly have sworn it was there. "When we have finished here," Mosel continued, regaining his calm, "you will learn all that we know. Patience." He dropped his last rag on the pile and pushed the bowl away. He nodded his thanks to the nurse who took it away.

At that moment, Dr. Bashir emerged from the curtain. Deidre and Gormlaith followed.

"Good news," he said, exchanging his soiled gloves for a new pair. He approached Mosel. "I'm happy to say your daughter's blood work is clean. She is not carrying any contagion," he said. "Although, she is severely malnourished and dehydrated." He examined the parents in a single look, his trained doctor's eye noting their pallid skin and thin faces. Deidre's eyes were slightly sunken. "I've given Gormlaith a nutritional supplement," he continued, "which I'll want both of you to take as well. And nurse, bring them all something to eat immediately. Dietary Supplement Four in the replicator."

He sighed and gestured to Mosel. "You're next, please." The Cardassian stood, and Bashir motioned him behind the curtain.

Without asking permission, Gormlaith stretched out on one of the infirmary beds. Lying on her side, she curled into herself, arm tucked under her head. Deidre and Picard watched as she slept within seconds.

"She can fall asleep anywhere," Deidre said softly. "Even when she was a babe. I've always envied her that." She sighed.

Left alone with her, Picard found that he did not know where to begin. He caught Deidre's eye and hers held the same lost expression.

"Well," he said, to put her at ease as much as himself. "How are you?"

She smiled kindly at the gesture. "Surviving," she said. "God, it's been so long, Jean-Luc." She gazed at his face, its familiarity bringing a welcome rush of warmth. "How are _you_?"

He nodded and ducked away from her gaze. "I've been well." He found it difficult to meet this woman's gaze. Her appearance notwithstanding, her very demeanor seemed to have changed. It was as if her character had diminished over the years.

"That's good," she said. The nurse brought her a bowl and pile of rags. She thanked her and the woman departed. Deidre noticed the questioning glances the Bajoran sent to both her daughter and herself, but dismissed them.

"Is Beverly still with you on the _Enterprise_?" she asked, wiping her face. "I've missed her."

"Yes," he said. "Yes, she is. I believe she's scheduled to come aboard the station this afternoon. Perhaps you'll run into her."

"Perhaps," she repeated. She ran her damp, clean fingers through her hair and pulled them out with disgust.

"I'm sorry we look such a state, captain," she said, rinsing her hands in the bowl. "I'm ashamed to have arrived like this. But it couldn't be helped." Instead of trying to meet his gaze again, she stared into the bowl. Drips from the washcloth she held fell into the murky water, the ripples spreading to the rim. She let the rag fall into the water with a splash. Suddenly, she shook her head and flinched.

Without thinking, Picard reached out a comforting hand, but drew it back quickly. "Are you all right, Deidre?"

She put her hand to her temple. "Yes," she said. "Just distracted. My apologies."

The nurse approached with three plates of Dietary Supplement Four, fresh from the replicator. Deidre took them with thanks and set two of them aside. Picard watched her tuck into her dish, gnawing ferociously at a dinner roll.

"How long has it been, Deidre," he said, not sure how to frame his query. Her hunger was disconcerting.

Understanding the unspoken question, she swallowed. "Ehm, yesterday, the day before," she said, and paused, considering. "They all run together, you know? Things have been pretty bad lately." She stuffed another oversized chunk into her mouth.

"Is that why you came to our time now?" Picard was trying to put the dots together, but knew it was a futile effort. He still lacked the most essential information.

"In part," she said, but did not elaborate. Picard sighed.

Across the infirmary, Sisko and Odo observed the hustle and bustle of the nurses. To their left, one of the women screened the Cardassian's blood for various contagions. She handled the sample delicately, and when all of the results came back negative, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Sisko watched Picard and Deidre with interest, wishing he was near enough to overhear their conversation.

"What do you make of all this, Odo?" Sisko said.

Odo grunted. "I'd say it's all very suspicious." He watched the Cardassian exit the curtained area with Dr. Bashir. "I don't like it."

"Neither do I," Sisko agreed. "But keep an eye on them. I had O'Brien run another diagnostic in Ops. I'm going to see if he can find out what really caused that power failure. Keep me updated if they leave the infirmary. And remind Dr. Bashir that I want copies of his analyses on their blood work."

Odo crossed his arms and nodded. "Understood," he said, as Sisko departed.

Meanwhile, Bashir brought Deidre into his exam area.

"Let's have a look, shall we?" He patted the table and she took a seat. He checked her neck glands with his gloved fingers, much as he had Gormlaith's. After taking the requisite blood sample, he probed her with his tricorder.

"Hm, this is interesting," he said, glancing at her worried face. "Now, don't worry, it's nothing to worry about." He studied the readings on his tricorder for a moment, and then met her eye again.

"How long have you known?" he asked quietly.

She sighed heavily and glanced down. "I've suspected. Probably a couple weeks. Ellil doesn't know."

Bashir followed her gaze to her stomach. "I'd like to get you in for a full pelvic exam and have you started on pre-natal vitamins in addition to the nutritional supplements."

"Jaysus," she said. Julian patted her knee comfortingly. "I'd hoped it would go away like the others did."

"You've had miscarriages before?"

"Aye, twice." She nodded. "The last one was almost two years ago. I kinda hoped I'd be done with this soon."

Julian was not entirely sure what she meant by that comment. "It's not uncommon with interspecies procreation," he assured. "The good news is, you've already had a child, and you're able to get pregnant again."

"Doctor, no disrespect meant, but are you daft?" Deidre looked at him with disbelief. "A baby would be disastrous."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I just thought…never mind," he said, as she glared at him. "I still want you in here for the exam."

"Mind if I take a shower first?" she said, raising her own brow.

Julian rolled his eyes. "Yes, please," he said. "In fact, I insist." He chuckled as the nurse brought him the readouts from the blood work.

"It looks like you're going to be just fine, Mrs. Mosel—."

"Oh God," she interrupted. "Call me Deidre. Mrs. Mosel was my mother-in-law, may she not rest in peace." She crossed herself over the chest.

"All right, Deidre," he said, bemused at her finger waving. "I'm happy to say that your blood work is clean."

"And thank God for small favors," she said, slipping off the table. "It was a pleasure doctor, thank you. I'll return later for the exam?"

Bashir nodded and escorted her out of the curtained area. They found Mosel and Gormlaith, who had awakened, eating their replicated supplements. Inhaling was more like it, Bashir thought. Picard had moved off and was speaking with Odo privately in the corner. Deidre approached her family while Bashir washed his hands.

She settled next to Ellil on the infirmary bed. He scraped the last scraps off his plate with a hunk of bread, stuffed it into his mouth and swallowed, practically in the same gesture. He put the plate aside. Bringing his arm around, he encircled Deidre's waist and held her against his side comfortingly.

She breathed in and out deeply calmly, and banished the conversation with Bashir from her thoughts. Soon, as she expected, she felt Ellil's mind gently probing her own thoughts. She settled her hand on his thigh and waited for him to initiate.

_We had an encouraging welcoming this time. At least they didn't shoot at us. _ He put his thought into her mind, as he had so many times before. _Do you think we'll be successful?_

She sighed audibly. _We couldn't wait any longer_, she responded. Ellil listened to her thought, and then sighed as she had. _Have you found her on the station yet? _SoDeidre thought and Ellil overheard.

_I've been listening since we arrived. There are so many minds here,_ he thought._ It's difficult._

Gormlaith noticed their particular silence and looked up from her meal. She glanced between her parents, and saw how they gazed at each other in intent silence, conversing in their minds. Deciding not to interrupt as she usually did when excluded from a conversation, she went back to her plate. Her belly gnawed at her despite the meal.

Mosel nodded and suddenly huffed victoriously. _I have her. We should go now._

Deidre felt Ellil withdraw from her mind. She slipped from his arm and off the table, glad for their conversation to be finished. Keeping her secret was nearly impossible, but out of respect, Ellil only invaded her mind by her permission. Over time, they had managed to work out their system. Gone were the days when he inadvertently probed her mind at will. Her shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly. How time had passed.

"Gormlaith," she said, and the girl stood immediately, plate put aside. Ellil took his daughter's hand reassuringly, and they followed Deidre.

Picard paused in his conversation with Odo as she approached. They looked to the family.

"Captain," Deidre said, "we're joining an acquaintance on the station. It seems that she has arrived." Deidre spared a glance at Odo. "Would you please accompany us to the Replimat?"


	5. Chapter 5

[A/N: I had to throw in a line from Kiefer Sutherland in The Three Musketeers. Sorry, but it's been in my head forever. See if you can spot it.]

Amending Fate: Chapter Five

"Replicator: One rokassa juice, and one Vulcan brandy." Garak waited for the drinks to appear on the replicator pad. Naturally, he had insisted that he fetch Nanette's drink for her. She expected nothing less. Nanette observed him as he carried the drinks back to their table in the Replimat.

"I recall you preferred brandy, my dear," he said, as he set the drinks down and took a seat across from her.

"You would have made a better barman than spy, Mr. Garak," she said. "You never forget a drink."

Ignoring her barb, he continued, "We could easily have gone to Quark's for a proper bottle, if I had known you were so inclined."

"That vile establishment across the Promenade?" Her tone was disdainful. "It would hardly be seemly at this time of day." Picking up her glass with gloved fingers, she swirled the liquid around the edges. "This is not a proper snifter," she declared, drawing it under her nose nonetheless.

"Shall I get you another?" he asked, amused. "I'm not sure the replicators here are programmed for your _particular_ specifications."

She glanced at him over the rim of her glass. "No, thank you, Mr. Garak," she said, sipping from her brandy before setting it down gently. "That won't be necessary."

He took a moment to observe her. Her eyes lingered demurely on her drink and she folded her hands in her lap. A comfortable lull settled in their conversation, as if she were allowing him to take all the time he needed.

He noticed there were a few new crinkles around her eyes—it had been a number of years since their last fateful meeting, after all. Time, however, had not diminished her personal bearing. She still held herself well, spine straight and shoulders held with care. As always, she was the picture of gentility. Garak was not sure he had aged as gracefully.

She looked down her dainty nose at him. Her eyes burned through her dark lashes as she observed him in return. As he met her gaze, he found it was appreciative, and, dare he assume, amorous. His blood quickened unexpectedly. Interesting that he should still admire her, but maybe not all that surprising. She was a minx, this one. Dangerous also, that was true, but he never tired of her quick wit and cruel eyes.

Suddenly, she raised her glass, as if deciding that his time to evaluate her had finished.

"To our renewed acquaintance, Mr. Garak," she said, and he raised his glass to hers.

"And to forging new bonds," he replied. They sipped from their glasses.

"Now," he said, getting down to business. "Whatever are you doing on this station?"

She laughed outright. "What a silly question, sir!" She took another sip from her glass. "I'm enjoying a brief holiday—must one have a reason for such an excursion?"

Garak joined in her laugh. "Not at all! And I'm so pleased that you chose this particular locale. Are you enjoying the fruits of Bajor, perhaps?" he asked, gladly letting the tête-à-tête begin after the pre-requisite pleasantries.

"As I intimated to Constable Odo—what a stolid man—I'm merely here for recreation. And what a pleasure to encounter you, so far from your homeworld. What is _your_ purpose on this station, Mr. Garak?"

"Ah," he said, pleased that their verbal jousts had not diminished in the slightest. "I've taken up a new trade."

"Really?" She nodded, intrigued. "I wasn't under the impression you were dissatisfied with your previous one."

"Yes, it was an unexpected change, but not entirely unrewarding." He drank from his rokassa juice. "I've taken up tailoring," he confessed, as he set his mug down.

"What an _interesting_ choice," she said.

She looked mildly taken aback. At last, he crowed, a fissure in her careful façade. This was the most fun he'd had in a good while. His minor dalliances with the good doctor notwithstanding, of course.

"At the risk of affronting you," she continued, "I must confess that such a profession could hardly utilize your special talents. I worry for your peace of mind."

He felt her gaze assess him. "Oh," he said nonchalantly. "You'd be surprised." He waved off her mock-concern. "It can be quite engaging, actually."

She refolded her hands with a dainty flourish of fingertips. "I saw you with your dining companion earlier," she commented, feigning innocence. "He is remarkably handsome, if I may be so bold." She glanced coyly at him. "Are you up to your usual games, Mr. Garak?"

He smothered a chuckle. The woman was nothing if not droll. "Games, my dear? Now you really do injure me."

"Your pardon, sir," she said, not trying to hide her smirk. "But really, your glances at him were quite transparent. You can't hide it from me. I know your ins and outs." She leaned over the small table conspiratorially. "I know where your _predilections_ lie," she hissed in his ear.

Garak shivered as she resumed her seat. She certainly had not lost her touch.

"It seems you've become quite the flâneur," she continued pleasantly. "The man about town. Have you settled into a quiet retirement?"

"Never mistake it, my dear," he warned, holding her eye. "I have not retired." He drained his mug and set it down with a resounding thump.

She caught the implication and nodded her head slightly. "Duly noted."

Deciding to take their verbal sparring match a step further, he reached across the table and caught her hand. She looked at him with sudden apprehension. To his delight, however, she did not attempt to pull away. Holding her by her jacket-covered wrist, Garak slipped the glove from her hand finger by finger, careful not to touch her skin.

She glared at him. "What are you doing?" she asked coldly.

"A little experiment," he said, equally aloof. He pressed her hand palm-down on the table and released it. Wisely, she did not remove it.

Slowly, he slid a single finger from her wrist to knuckle. The familiar tingle tickled his finger, and he watched as a glittery blue line arose on her skin where he had traced. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped him. He knew that she controlled the electrical current behind her skin; that if she wished, she could jolt him off his chair and out of his boots in a heartbeat. Interesting, however, that she did not.

She watched him warily. "Are you satisfied?" she asked.

He smiled ruefully. "Oh, my dear, I have not been _satisfied_ in a long while," he replied, skimming her finger. Suddenly, he gripped her hand, their palms meeting. He gasped at the shock, sparks flying from their joined skin. Immediately, he dropped her hand.

"How silly of you, Mr. Garak," she said sternly. Collecting her glove from the table, she pulled it on roughly.

He cradled his hand against his chest. "I see you're still a woman of many talents. Now, really," he said, dropping all pretense. "Why have you come to the station? Entertaining as this is, I hardly think I have anything to do with it." The game, he thought, was wearing thin.

"Indeed," she said, frowning at him. "I'm joining a few old acquaintances. And it's none of your concern."

"I must live on this station, Nanette," he retorted, "and I am concerned, especially if it involves _you_." Man about town, indeed, he scoffed.

"I have no illusions about you, sir," she snapped, downing the rest of her brandy in a fell swoop. "You will inform on me to the Obsidian Order, and then they will attempt to apprehend me. Again." She rose hastily from her chair. "Or, you will simply bring me in yourself. I warn you, Elim: you would be a fool to attempt it." As her temper rose, a blue sheen passed over her face. Literally, she sparkled with anger.

He flinched on reflex. "I do not intend to waylay you," he said. He glanced quickly around and realized their argument had aroused concern among the other customers.

"Liar," she hissed, and this time there was no hint of mock-affection. "It's in your nature to be duplicitous."

"Sit down," he said sternly. "So we can discuss it _civilly_." His words struck a chord in her, as he hoped they would. Noticing the anxious stares surrounding them, she stiffened, abashed. Garak knew, above all else, that she despised public spectacles. Reluctantly, she resumed her seat.

As she glared at him, Garak wondered how much of her behavior was an affectation. He was certainly enjoying himself; it was as if Nanette remembered how her arguments aroused him and now delighted in provoking him. He had always found her temper a delightful quirk, and he knew that she was aware of its effect as well. He smiled suddenly.

"What an interesting dilemma we find ourselves in, my dear," he said. "You are determined to keep your little secret, and I am determined to root it out."

"It's undoubtedly a conundrum," she agreed. Her glare had not lessened, but she folded her hands in her lap. This, he knew, was a good sign. And, she would be slower to harm him this way.

"What are we going to do about it?" he asked, mockingly.

Cocking her eyebrow, she said, "I would suggest that you could find me out the hard way," and she smiled maliciously, "but sadly, my companions and I are departing on a little adventure. We won't be around for you to play spy."

"How intriguing," he said, lifting his own brow. "And where would you be going?"

She leaned across the table and this time he met her in the middle. Letting their cheeks brush gently, he felt the pleasant tingle pass over his jaw ridges. She breathed into his hair and it tickled his ear softly.

"We're going to a time far, far away," she murmured. To his surprise, she drew slightly away and looked him in the eye. "But I'll miss you, Elim." Quickly gripping the back of his head with her hand, she forced her lips against his. The tingle spread across his mouth, sparks rising from their wet lips. He gasped against her in pain. She released him with a final jolt and he immediately pressed his palm against his mouth.

Glowering, he said, "Was that really necessary?"

She raised her shoulder in a slight shrug and smiled. "Yes, it was." She glanced over his shoulder. "Ah," she said. "Here come my grave diggers now." She gestured behind him and for the second time that day, he twisted around to observe the Promenade.

An assorted group of people approached the Replimat. He saw Odo glaring at him in disgust. Dr. Bashir followed, seeming equally perplexed. And a trifle hurt, Garak noticed, and momentarily wondered whether it was because he was acquainted with the doctor's romantic interest, or because he was intimately involved in the mysterious situation. Not that the doctor's concern was a pressing matter, but still.

Behind the station personnel was a far more interesting cluster of people. He eyed the lone Cardassian apprehensively; the man was certainly a roguish character. Garak was a bit concerned at his appearance, nevertheless; he never liked to see a fellow Cardassian so abused. It wasn't natural.

Beside his kinsman walked another Cardassian—well, half a one, he corrected, as they neared. A young girl, by the looks of it, though she was almost as tall as her father. The most striking feature was her hair; it was a dark auburn hue, highly unusual. Her appearance was even more distressing than her parents'. His tailor's eye noted her ill-fitted dress with its ragged hemline and her wan expression. Next to her was a woman—the mother, perhaps—and behind her was a Starfleet officer. Garak realized with some surprise that it was the captain of the _Enterprise_, Jean-Luc Picard, if he remembered the Intelligence Profile from years ago correctly.

Nanette rose from her chair, nodding amiably to the approaching group. She did not seem distressed or apprehensive at their troubled appearance.

The Cardassian returned her nod upon arrival. "I see you received our message," he said. The man glanced momentarily at Garak, who studied his scar with some fascination.

Suddenly, Garak felt a probing at his mind. He brought his hand halfway to his temple before he could master his mental defenses. With a flinch, he deflected the probe with some difficulty. He saw Bashir eyeing him with concern, but Garak shook his head slightly. He glanced quickly around, unsure of the probe's initiate. Perhaps the woman was Betazoid? But she did not have the eyes. Though perplexing, the episode lasted mere seconds.

Nanette nodded to Deidre and Gormlaith, unaware of Garak's difficulties. "Yes, I received it," Nanette replied, and Garak returned his focus to the conversation at hand. "I assume the situation is dire," she continued, and Deidre agreed.

"Aye," she said. "We need to meet in conference immediately. Nanette," she said, and gestured to the new Starfleet officer, "this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the _Enterprise_. We've asked him to assist us."

"If you think it is best," Nanette said. She greeted the captain coolly.

Garak noticed that Picard kept unusually silent. The man seemed to be observing the situation with unease. He also saw that Odo and Bashir exchanged a confused glance. Garak felt unexpectedly eager; this was turning out to be a splendid little mystery. He looked to Nanette and she met his eye.

Nanette motioned to him in introduction. "May I present Mr. Garak," she said.

As he nodded first to Deidre and then Mosel in greeting, Garak again felt the probe at his mind. He pushed it back forcefully.

"Yes, we are aware," Deidre said. She nodded to Garak in the Cardassian style of greeting. "We've met before, or rather, we will meet."

Garak raised a surprised, and slightly bemused, brow. For an instant, the probing returned, stronger than before, and with effort, he repelled it yet again.

"A pleasure," he said, slightly irritated. Whomever wanted inside his mind was going to be severely disappointed.

"I'm Deidre," she continued, and gestured to the Cardassian. "This is my husband, Ellil Mosel, and our daughter Gormlaith." The child greeted him shyly and he smiled.

"Beautiful girl," Garak complimented. She blushed and dipped her head in thanks.

"We're wasting time," Mosel said, breaking his silence. He had been urging them along since they left the infirmary. He repeatedly scanned the Promenade, as if he was standing sentry. "We should get out of the open," he said.

"Agreed," Deidre said. She turned to Odo and Bashir. "Is there a room where we can gather?

Odo considered for a moment, and then said, reluctantly, "Conference room five." He did not mention that it was nearest the Security Office.

"Then we best get there, and quickly." Deidre glanced around the Promenade in much the same way as Ellil.

Nanette stepped forward. "May I suggest that we invite Mr. Garak to accompany us?" She caught his eye and he would almost swear that she winked. He dismissed the thought instantly—she would never perform so crude a gesture.

Pleased, Garak rose from his chair. He was glad to see she did not trust him. It made things a little more interesting.

"I would be delighted," Garak said. He heard Odo's exasperated sigh, but ignored him. All this intrigue would be good for the changeling, too.

Deidre raked her gaze over Garak, assessing. She looked briefly, yet intently, at Mosel. They seemed to reach a silent decision.

"Yes," she said finally, "perhaps you should join us." She gestured away from the Promenade. "If you please."

Odo sighed again, more of a grunt, really, and motioned for the group to follow. Garak offered his arm to Nanette, as he knew she preferred. Pleased, she accepted it, and he escorted her from the Replimat.

Yes, Garak entertained, this was certainly a break from his routine. He allowed an almost gleeful grin to pass over his face. He looked down at Nanette and patted her hand. She smirked at him. What a charming minx. He would have to thank her for this someday.


	6. Chapter 6

Amending Fate: Chapter Six [Wherein we finally earn (or at least justify) that 'M' rating. As Samuel L. would say: "Hold onto your butts."]

Captain Picard glanced uneasily down the long conference table. It was an odd collection of people who had gathered: five humans, two and a half Cardassians, and one each of Bajoran and changeling. Commander Sisko had arrived, unannounced, bearing Major Kira in tow. Neither looked particularly pleased. Picard sighed as he sat at the head of the table; it was as if he divided the two factions down the middle. Starfleet and its allies on one side, the strange and unknown on the other. The station's Cardassian tailor, Mr. Garak, had opted for a seat a little too near Nanette. Introductions were made, again, for Kira and Sisko's benefit; and then they settled down to business.

Mosel sat to Picard's right, and it was to him that the captain turned first.

"Well," Picard said, clearing his throat. He was not exactly sure of the protocol for such a meeting, but he had arbitrated grimmer conferences than this (though, ironically, none that he could recall off the top). Deliberating, he decided to jump feet first and hope for a soft landing. "What is this all about?" he asked. It sounded unsure even to his ears.

Mosel grunted, as if he was well aware the captain's insecurity. Picard shifted uncomfortably under the man's knowing gaze. Instead, Deidre spoke for her husband, who had, Picard noted, remained unusually quiet during this entire ordeal.

"I suppose we should start at the beginning," she said. Sparing a glance around the table, she formed her words carefully. It was not a receptive group.

"As you're aware, Jean-Luc," she began, turning her attention to Picard and directing the dialogue at him, "after Ellil and I were married, we went to Cardassia to live. However, we didn't stay there long." Deidre ignored the menacing glare Major Kira sent her way and continued.

As Deidre spoke, she outlined the scene for her audience. It was Cardassia Prime as they knew it, Garak and Mosel intimately, but the others by repute. For them, Picard in particular, the time she spoke of had only been a few short years before.

It was three years ago almost to the date, that Mosel—as he was before—entered his house quietly. The interior was dark and the upstairs quiet. He breathed a sigh of relief and locked the door behind him. His parents had already retired for the evening, and Kiral and Pana had obviously done the same.

Stumbling his way to the dining room in the dark, he muttered a few choice words as he collided into a strategically placed chair. His shin aching, he approached the replicator.

"Two red leaf teas, hot," he whispered. The drinks materialized in a noticeable hum, and he wished the machine could learn a little tact. He desperately wanted to pass through without waking anyone, his father in particular. It had been a horrible day.

Clutching the glasses, which burned his hands slightly, he made his way up the stairs. He skipped the pre-requisite squeaky step and tiptoed past the master bedroom, chiding himself as he held his breath. Thankfully not colliding with any other furniture or toys (if only Kiral was stricter on Pana to pick up after herself, he griped), he arrived at his quarters on the third floor. It was a large house by Cardassian standards, but it could have been the size of a warship and still not have been big enough.

The door slid open and as he anticipated, Deidre was propped up in bed, awaiting him. As he entered the room, she slipped out from under the covers. She kissed his cheek as he handed her a cup of tea.

"I hoped you'd be awake," he murmured, drawing her as near as he could with his free arm. Her belly collided gently into his side and he chuckled.

"I haven't seen you all day," she said, mumbling into his shoulder. "How was it?"

He sighed and released her. "The meeting was dreadful." Setting his tea aside, he removed his jacket. He started to drop it on the floor, but at a stern look from his wife, he draped it over a nearby chair instead. Deidre looked satisfied. He resumed unbuttoning his vest.

"Central Command simply cannot fathom how I allowed a Romulan warbird to escape after it was caught in a blatant act of aggression against both Cardassia and the Federation." He sighed again and laid his vest over his jacket.

She sipped her tea. "Don't they get tired of asking the same questions? It's been months now."

"Cardassians are nothing if not obsessed with detail," he said. "I was there for thirteen hours, trapped in a tiny room with three Guls breathing down my neck and snapping out questions faster than I could answer them. It was infuriating." As he divested his shirt and trousers on the chair as well, she wolf whistled. She had learned not to indulge his complaints with a sympathetic ear. It tended to annoy him.

"You know," she said, changing the subject tactlessly, "you're pretty sexy. For a Cardassian, that is."

"Please, don't inundate me with compliments," he grumbled with a wink. It was an amusing little trait he had picked up while on the _Enterprise_, and she giggled.

She rubbed her hand over her stomach absently and settled on the bed. "So," she said. "I expect they'll be wanting to interrogate me soon, aye?"

Stalling, he picked up his tea and downed it. It burned his throat and he hissed. "Yes," he said. He put the glass aside. "We've used the baby as an excuse, but after you've had it—well, it won't be long before they require your cooperation." He couched the words carefully. In truth, Central Command had been hammering his father for access to Deidre, and the situation was slipping out of his control. They wouldn't be able to hold them off for much longer. Shaking his head, discouraged, he flopped, face-first and naked, onto the bed.

Deidre nodded slowly, a twist of fear settling in her stomach. Breathe, she reminded herself. Just breathe. It will all work out.

"How is your headache?" she said abruptly. He mumbled into the pillow and she tapped his head with her finger. "I can't understand you," she said.

He glanced at her with bleary eyes. "The hypospray I took this morning didn't help in the slightest," he said. "And, of course, they didn't let me out of the room to fetch another one all day."

"Poor baby," she said, running her fingers through his hair. A few strands fell in his eyes and he blew them to the side.

Shifting position, he laid his head on her thigh. He kissed her stomach and rubbed it with his palm. "I don't know what it is," he said. "I've been to our doctor, and all she says is that I'm under a lot of pressure. But they're getting worse."

"I've noticed." She massaged one of his temples with her fingers. With the baby soon to arrive—within days, Beverly said—she had her own headaches, but kept them to herself. These times were difficult enough. "Can I do anything to help?"

He gazed at her face for a moment and suddenly grinned. He raised his brow suggestively. Laughing, she flicked his head playfully.

"You asked," he chuckled, slowly moving his hand from her stomach to her breast. She arched into his touch.

"Mm, I did," she sighed. "Whatever I can do to help, really," she said, as he sat up.

Kneeling over her, he lifted her sleep-shirt over her head. She raised her arms obediently and he tossed it to the floor with a smirk. She didn't complain. He remembered suddenly that Sefil, his brother, had complained that Kiral had been unapproachably feral during her entire pregnancy. Grinning widely, Ellil noted that it was obviously not the case with humans.

Kissing his way over her breasts to her stomach, he reveled at how big it had swelled. Cardassian women did not have much to complain about in comparison, he thought. Dipping lower, he rubbed his nose against her mound and enjoyed her distinctly human musk. He gave a tentative lick and she sighed, her tone lowering several octaves.

Even after nine months, they were still overcoming the shy exploration of each others' bodies; and he glanced up, hesitant. He supposed the uncertainty came with the territory of interspecies sex. And as a rule, Cardassian females were a bit leery of this act anyway.

"It feels good," she encouraged. She skimmed his neck ridges with her fingernails and he gasped into her. His arousal stirred in his internal pelvic cavity, urging him on.

Renewing his attentions, he slipped a finger into her. She groaned and lifted her pelvis against him. It had taken time and dedicated practice, he remembered, but he had learned her anatomy. Now pleasuring her was second nature. Her hips soon rose and fell easily under him, carried with appreciative sighs and little gasps. Abruptly, he drew away and hovered over her.

Sitting up, she pressed her forehead against his abdomen. She kissed his soft grey skin, and ran her tongue along the raised line of scales that went down to his pubis. She'd had a long learning curve, too. Ellil was happy to note she caught on quickly, maybe faster than he had.

With her mouth, she pleasured his two parallel, vertical groin ridges, sucking just as she would on his neck. He groaned and twined his fingers in her hair. His erection pressed internally against the soft flesh directly above his pelvic ridges, and she massaged it over the skin. Gently, she ran her finger along the extended slit between his ridges. His hardness slipped out and onto her palm. He growled his delight as she wrapped her fingers around him.

Gripping her arms, perhaps a bit too tight, he pulled her to her knees and turned her around just as quickly. He caught her as she lurched heavily forward, her belly pulling her down. She laughed softly. He rubbed his face against the smooth skin of her back, the scratch of his facial ridges sending shivers up her spine. He kissed the blue tattoo between her shoulder blades. It was a Celtic cross, she once told him, with the Latin inscription "Caelitus mihi vires" arched above it. 'My strength is from Heaven.' Her brothers had born the same mark, she had said. He kissed it again and drew her against his chest.

She leaned backward, and he rose, hot, between her legs. Trembling, he entered her. His tongue had felt like a human's, she thought, but this was no tongue. He cupped her between her legs and crossed his arm across her breasts. As he pushed insistently against her, she reached over her shoulder and gripped his neck ridges. He cried out, rushing into her. She convulsed around the sudden jerk.

His fingers gripped her pubis and she sobbed aloud. Ellil panted against her ear and bit her neck in his final thrusts.

They collapsed on the bed, slick with Deidre's sweat and their mingled wetness. Suddenly fatigued, Ellil drew the sheet over them. She nestled against him on her side, the only position she found vaguely comfortable.

Just as he crept toward sleep, a shooting pain burst through his skull. His eyes flew open and he hissed against the burn. He rapped his knuckles against his head in agony. With gritted teeth, he squeezed back the tears that threatened. He waited for the pain to pass, as it always did. It seemed minutes passed before it reduced to sore twinges. Thankful, he sighed. Deidre slept through the ordeal. He wrapped his arm around her and breathed in her hair. Gradually, though he had not expected it to, sleep took him.

In the hour before daybreak, he awoke with a start. A hand struck his chest. The weak Cardassian dawn crept through the blinds. He turned over, disconcerted.

"Ellil!" It was a strangled, frantic cry.

He sat up immediately. Next to him, Deidre doubled over and clutched her stomach.

"There's something wrong," she sobbed. "It hurts!" She cried out again and pressed her hands against her stomach.

"All right," he stuttered, flailing as he practically fell out of bed. "Get dressed. I'll call Dr. Crusher." Beverly had been staying at the Cardassian version of Motel 6 for the last week. The good doctor wasn't pleased, but she was on-call for delivery. They had expected it any day and it looked like the baby was right on time.

"Get Kiral too," Deidre whispered. She stood shakily, her spine bent in pain. Mosel hopped into his trousers and put his shirt on backward, not caring.

Leaving Deidre as she stumbled toward the bathroom, he rushed down the stairs to his sister-in-law's bedroom. He burst into the room without knocking. Kiral sat up with a start, clutching her bedcovers in fright.

"It's time!" he said. Ellil clutched the doorframe for support. He had not expected to be this nervous.

Kiral rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and nodded.

"Call for transportation," she ordered, forcing her head to clear. "I'll go up to Deidre." She waited for him to stumble away from her door before leaping from the bed. She dressed with equal haste, but with more care than Ellil, and then ran up the stairs. She found Deidre crouched against the bathroom sink, used washcloth in hand. Kiral knelt beside her, noting her pallid, clammy skin.

"I think my water broke," Deidre whimpered. She breathed in faint, rapid bursts.

Kiral rubbed Deidre's back, not sure exactly what a 'water' was. "Let's get you dressed and downstairs," she urged. They had been expecting this moment; they had discussed it with Dr. Crusher in detail and had anticipated it for days, but now that it was actually happening, Kiral felt her anxiety clear and her mind click into its methodical authority.

Finding a shirt and loose-fitting trousers in the bedroom, Kiral helped her into them. Mosel returned just as Deidre slipped her foot into a sandal.

"The emergency transport is waiting outside," he said, breathless from running the stairs.

She gripped Deidre's arm and helped her stand. "We're ready," Kiral said.

Leaning on her sister-in-law, Deidre made her way slowly out of the room and down the stairs. Ellil followed, anxious.

Outside, in the hazy morning light, an automated hover craft (as Deidre called them) stalled in the street. Ellil helped his trembling wife into the vehicle, Kiral stepping up behind them.

"Sharkam Medical Facility, computer," he ordered, and settled Deidre between him and Kiral. "And hurry."

As they pulled away from the house, Ellil realized with a start that he had not even thought of waking his parents. The expecting grandparents were required to appear at the delivery in the traditional sign of family unity. Yet, in his mad dash, he had not considered them. He sighed, disappointed in himself.

What a son he had become.


	7. Chapter 7

Amending Fate: Chapter Seven

Picard cleared his throat. "When Dr. Crusher returned from Cardassia," he interrupted, "she said you had a difficult delivery."

Deidre glanced at him in surprise, her narrative interrupted. She shook herself out of the memory. "Difficult, yes," she repeated. "But that's not why we're telling you this." She stared at the table top, her gaze distant.

"Deidre," Mosel said, after a moment passed.

Gormlaith put a hand on her mother's shoulder. "Ma?" She shook her, gently.

"Yes," Deidre said, startled. "I'm sorry, I was distracted."

"It did not go well," Mosel prompted, glancing at his wife. He shared these memories with her; they alternated their perspectives as the narrative progressed.

She frowned, still gazing at some point in the past. "It was terrible, the room at the hospital," she said, remembering with a shudder. "It was an auditorium, there must have been two hundred people there."

She let the memory settle over her again, returning to the delivery room at Sharkam. Its high, grey walls surrounded her; the ceiling hovered, ominously, above. They laid her on a table, a metal slab, so cold, she remembered. Around her, lining three of the four walls, were stands—bleachers, almost—and they filled quickly with medical students. Their voices rose in a cacophony of noise, the room almost vibrating from the chorus. On the fourth wall was mounted a large monitor broadcasting the delivery for those students farther back in the auditorium.

Dr. Aruk, the Cardassian doctor who supervised the facility, hovered over Dr. Crusher's shoulder as she administered the requisite sedatives.

"This is an excellent turnout," Dr. Aruk said, as he glanced around the auditorium. "When the staff and faculty found out we were having a human birth _here_, the tickets couldn't be assigned fast enough."

Crusher glanced at Aruk, somewhat unnerved. "You mean you sold tickets to this?" It sounded as if she had a sudden urge to jam her hypospray into the spoon on Aruk's brow.

"Of course not!" he said, indignant. "We don't sell them, they're assigned based on merit." He looked up at the lowest rows, those nearest the delivery floor. "Naturally, our professionals in the field have seats reserved permanently."

Crusher adjusted Deidre's footrests. "That is atrocious," she snapped, completely forgetting, or else ignoring, Starfleet's broad acceptance of alien cultures.

Aruk looked momentarily aghast. "But it's a wonderful teaching opportunity," he insisted. "Surely you can appreciate that. Most of our students will never have the opportunity to observe your species in its birthing cycle—this is a fortuitous event!" He was positively agog.

Crusher sighed. From her previous experience with Dr. Sazon on the _Saharon_, it appeared that all Cardassian doctors were the same: opportunistic and slimy. She was glad, suddenly, that she was here to assist. Even though the equipment was inferior to Federation issue and she wanted to shove Dr. Aruk out of an airlock, Deidre's repeated thanks and confidence were reason enough to stay.

Approaching her patient at the head, she carefully tucked a few strands of Deidre's hair under her medical cap. "It's going to be all right," Beverly murmured, stroking her clammy forehead.

Deidre reached out from under the sheet and clutched her hand. "I don't want to be put to sleep," she said. "Please, Beverly." Deidre glanced up at the crowds hovering over the bed.

Her sedated eyes were frightened and Beverly leaned down over the bed. "I won't put you under," she assured, squeezing her hand. "This will be over in no time."

Except that it wasn't. What seemed like hours later, Deidre's head collapsed back on the bed, exhausted. Her skin had grayed, dark circles had formed under her eyes, and Dr. Crusher worriedly checked her vitals every ten minutes. She had been afraid of interspecies complications, and it seemed that the worst had happened. Dr. Aruk leaned anxiously over the bed, much to Crusher's disapproval.

"What's taking so long?" he hissed. Aruk was well aware that their conversation was being recorded for posterity, but his impatience got the best of him. Cardassian women were usually finished within a half hour; this was becoming a preposterous waste of time. The crowd above him obviously felt the same, as they stirred restlessly in their seats.

Crusher frowned at him, mustering her famous temper. "Human women can be in labor for _days_," she hissed back.

Aruk did not look amused. "You can't be serious," he said. Such a notion was impossible.

Crusher merely gritted her teeth and ignored him. She scanned Deidre with her tricorder. "Effacement of the cervix at ninety-three percent," she reported.

Aruk gestured to the hovering audience. "Doctor, could you please explain that for our records?" he said, in his stage voice.

Before Crusher could respond, Deidre sobbed aloud, gripping the sheet with her hands. A contraction passed, followed quickly by another, and with each she wailed.

"Ellil!" she gasped, as the spasm came, stronger than before. "Ellil!" Her cry resonated in the auditorium.

In the stands above, Mosel hurried from his seat. His mother, who had arrived with Pana and his father an hour earlier at Kiral's request, gripped his hand.

"You must stay here for your family," she whispered firmly. "It isn't proper for you to go down there." Her gaze shifted around the audience anxiously.

Mosel studied her for a moment, taking in her cold eyes and perfectly arranged coiffure. She had obviously taken the time to dress and beautify herself before arriving, despite the urgency of the situation. He scowled.

"She is my wife, mother," he said. Before the eyes of the entire auditorium, he wrenched his hand from her grip and exited the stands. He barely registered the ramifications of his decision, nor did he note the displeasure on his father's face.

Upon arrival at the delivery floor, an assistant gave him a mask and gown. After quickly adorning himself, he went to Deidre's side. Kneeling beside the table, much as Deidre had when she played the fiddle for him upon the holodeck all those months ago, he put his hand gently on her forehead.

"How are you holding up?" He took a cloth and wiped her brow.

"Ellil," she murmured, barely turning her head toward him.

He smiled at her. Her skin was grey, her hair wrapped in an unflattering medical cap, but her eyes were the same hazy blue as the day they met. He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. That they were being recorded and broadcasted for a crowd of two-hundred did not perturb him.

After he pulled away, she raised her hand limply to his cheek. She cupped his chin lightly with her finger. "Do something for me," she said.

"Anything." He smiled again, gently, and held her hand in his.

"Name the baby Gormlaith. I know you wanted to name her Yilar," she said, as he sighed. He was about to disagree, but she stopped him. "My da used to tell me stories of old Ireland," she continued hoarsely, "about the times of great kings, when Ireland was the last haven of civilization and the defender of history." She looked him in the eye, urging him to hear her out.

"I loved the story my da told of the last High King of Ireland, Brian Boruma. I would beg him to tell it, almost every night. The sad thing is," she murmured, not caring that the recording equipment carried her voice across the auditorium. The voices in the stands dwindled as she spoke. "I've forgotten most it. I remember that he said King Boru took the woman Gormlaith to be his wife. She was said to be the most beautiful woman in Ireland. Her first husbands cast her aside because she was too ambitious." Deidre sighed, considering. "Name her Gormlaith, give her something from me." She wheezed and her head rolled back against the pillow. "I want her to be strong."

He shook his head. "Deidre," he began, but she shushed him.

"Do this for me," she urged. "Please." She shivered and cried out again, suddenly. Mosel gripped her hand tighter as she wailed. "It hurts, Ellil," she sobbed. She put her other hand to her stomach and a scream wrenched from her. "I don't have a priest," she said suddenly, tears trickling down her cheeks. "I'm going to die without the sacrament." She sobbed all the harder for it, though Mosel was not sure exactly what she meant. "Dear God," she started to mumble, "forgive me for my sins," but her voice trailed off in a wail. She trembled.

Dr. Crusher, who had stepped back to allow them a moment, pushed forward with her tricorder. "You're not going to die," she said fiercely. "Effacement of the cervix at ninety-nine percent. It's now or never." She sat between Deidre's legs, adjusting her gloves.

Deidre screamed again and Mosel took a reflexive step back. He had certainly never heard of Cardassian women behaving this way. And if he had expected it to be as gentle as a Bajoran birth based on their similarities of appearance, he was sorely mistaken. The audience was apparently as intrigued, and he heard the clicks of data pads as the students rapidly took their notes.

From the family section of the seating, Mosel saw Pana rise from her chair. Pana leaned over the balcony, refusing Kiral's attempts to pull her back.

"Please don't die, Deidre!" the girl exclaimed, as her aunt screamed again. A murmur rose in the crowd. Ellil's mother leaned forward and yanked Pana away from the rail. She pulled the girl into her seat and whispered angrily into her ear. Pana looked rebellious, her chin jutting out.

Ignoring the display, Beverly ran the Cardassian version of an internal scanner over Deidre's stomach, frowning as the results came in.

"This isn't good," she said, to no one in particular. "The infant's dual umbilical cords have wrapped themselves around the neck in the birth canal." She reached her hands between Deidre's legs, out of Mosel's sight, and Deidre gasped.

Mosel was not exactly sure what a 'birth canal' was, but he knew that Cardassian women had evolved a series of widened ridges to prevent entanglement of the umbilical cords at the infant's brow and chest at birth. Indeed, this was not good. His heart beat faster in his chest and his head swam. Suddenly, the piercing pain returned in his frontal lobes and he nearly staggered as it stabbed at him. Raising his hands to his head, he fell weakly to his knees in front of Deidre. Not now, he wanted to scream, as he swooned.

The pain was blinding; white flashed before his eyes and he swore that his breathing ceased. Digging his fingernails into his skull, he opened his eyes as Deidre turned to him. It was as if she spoke to him in that moment, in a voice deeper than sound. "Domhnall," she seemed to say. "Brían!" But Mosel saw that her lips did not move. Again, the words repeated, the names of her dead brothers forming a mantra in his mind.

"Please," he gasped, clutching her head. "I heard you. Your brothers aren't here," he said, urging her to cease.

Tears rolled down her pale cheeks. "Domhnall?" she panted, head rolling back again in a scream as Dr. Crusher urged her to push.

Again her voice resonated in his mind, but she was not speaking. Pain surged through his skull. In his mind, he heard that she was confused; her words were inarticulate. And she was frightened of him. He heard her wonder, even through her pain, how he knew that she called out wordlessly to her brothers, her last vestige of safety. Mosel had to wonder himself how her voice called out in his mind. Could he hear her thoughts?

He slid his hands from her head down to her shoulders. "I can hear you!" he said, simultaneously excited and terrified. The revelation that he could somehow perceive her private thoughts frightened him. Deidre stared wildly at him, not comprehending.

Dr. Crusher glanced up, her hands bloodied, sweat soaking her face mask. She saw Mosel almost lift Deidre shoulders from the table as he yelled at her.

"Dr. Aruk!" she commanded. "Get him out of here!"

Aruk approached Mosel and gripped the younger man by the shoulders. Mosel struggled against him, but Aruk managed to pull him a short distance away. Mosel flailed beneath his restraining arms, still shouting that he heard her.

Suddenly, Deidre sobbed in triumph. The baby slid into Dr. Crusher's waiting hands in a warm gush of blood. Crusher immediately unwrapped the cords from the baby's throat. Blood rushed out of Deidre, spilling between her legs in a puddle on the table.

The heart monitor attached to Deidre's chest, which had noted the drop in blood pressure, suddenly palpitated, and then sounded in a single, eerie hum. A roar arose in the crowd. As Pana screamed from her seat, Mosel cried out a resounding "No!" and pushed away from Aruk. Deidre's voice in his mind died suddenly, leaving a blank silence in its wake.

He fell to Deidre's side again. Her body lay limp and still on the table. He shook her shoulders, repeating her name.

Crusher blew into the baby's face and the girl gasped. Satisfied, she put the baby into the assistant's arms. "Put her in the infant incubator," she ordered. She motioned Aruk over. "Stop the patient's bleeding," she instructed, and the Cardassian doctor took her place as she stood.

Coming to Deidre's side, she pushed Mosel out of the way. Exchanging her soiled gloves for new ones, she said, "I need a cortical stimulator." Her voice had assumed its technical authority, her mind calmly plotting the necessary measures to take, though her heart pounded in her chest. The second assistant rushed to retrieve one. Upon being handed the stimulator, Crusher pressed it against Deidre's forehead and programmed the frequency. Next, she pressed a cardio stimulator against Deidre's chest, and her torso thumped loudly against the table as Beverly attempted to restart her heart.

"Increase frequency," Crusher ordered, and activated the cardio stimulator for a second time. Deidre's chest rose and fell again, and this time she gasped. Her eyes fluttered, but Beverly knew it was only half the battle.

Turning to Aruk, who still ran the internal regenerator over Deidre's injury, she said, "I need A-positive blood. I was told you stocked it here."

The doctor shook his head. "You were misinformed," he said, confused.

"But my supply was confiscated at the border 'for observation'." Beverly nearly stomped her foot in frustration. "She'll die without it!" She looked around the audience, as if seeking out a potential donor. Instead, she was met with nearly two hundred confused stares. The roar of the crowd rose as each minute passed.

Thinking quickly, she whipped up the sleeve on her arm. Aruk watched her with interest.

"What are you doing, doctor?" He gave a final sweep of the regenerator to the affected area and removed his hand. The bleeding had ceased, but his trousers were soaked with the drippings from the table. He looked mildly disgusted.

"I'm an O-type," she explained, cuffing her sleeve. "It's the universal transfusion blood." She heard the click-clacking of data pads as the students took their notes, and she frowned. Quickly, she rambled off a list of instruments necessary for a field transfusion.

An assistant brought them a short time later, having replicated what he could and scrounging the rest from the supply room. Aruk watched, fascinated, as Crusher assembled what looked like an antiquated scale. He raised his eyebrow as she pierced her arm with a hollow needle.

Beverly attached the receiver needle into Deidre's arm, just below the inner elbow. Pulling a chair over to the head of the table, Beverly collapsed in it.

"I don't think this had been done since the twenty-second century," she said grimly, as her blood dripped out of her arm. It ran through the transparent tubing into a small bag. As the bag filled, it slowly seeped down the connecting tube into Deidre's arm.

Aruk raised his brow. "It's ingenious," he said, mildly appreciative, "if a bit primitive." Crusher glared at him. Ignoring the look and affecting his stage voice, Aruk said, "If you'd provide us with a detailed description, graph and history of this procedure, we would like to enter it into our databases."

Beverly sighed. She glanced at Deidre, whose color was slowly, oh so slowly, returning. Her blood pressure remained low, though her heartbeat was steady. To her right, the baby rested comfortably and healthily in an incubator. The assistant had done a stellar job, she had to note.

Looking to Aruk again, who still awaited an answer, she smirked suddenly. "I'm sorry doctor, but that information is confidential." She was tired of playing the Cardassians' games. Settling back into her chair, the immediate danger having passed, she promptly ignored the remainder of his requests. Diplomatic relations be damned.

Ignored by both doctors and almost forgotten by the audience, who clapped their approval of Dr. Crusher's medical expertise and good performance, Mosel waited to the side of the delivery table. He looked down on his wife. Dr. Crusher had programmed the stimulator to keep her in a medically induced coma until her body received the necessary transfusion. Her face, though ashen and lifeless, nevertheless rested in a painless sleep.

Try as he might, Mosel could not explain the strange occurrence of earlier. The pain had dulled in his mind; now, in the relative calm of the delivery room, he could step back and examine the experience. Strange as it was, he found that he was not afraid of it. As soon as he had allowed her voice into his mind, the dreadful searing in his skull dulled. Deidre's voice had simply appeared in his mind. He wanted to conclude that his concern for her had led him to assume she desired her brothers' company. It seemed like a logical leap, and yet, he questioned it. It had not been his own thought, he was sure of it. However distorted it had sounded in his mind, it was his wife's voice.

Sighing deeply, he gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward. He listened, first with his ears, and then, concentrating to the point of discomfort, he sought out her psyche. At first, there was silence, but slowly, the slow tickle of her thoughts crept into his mind. They were not words, not exactly. He could only describe them as observations, feelings, perhaps. Sensations. It was as if he slept with her, a calm descending on his mind. Faintly, he heard the sound of song, a mourning hymn. And light, he knew he was surrounded by radiant light.

And suddenly, it was gone. Dr. Aruk shook him out of his meditation.

"Are you all right?" Aruk asked, his hand on Mosel's shoulder.

Panting slightly, Mosel straightened. He glanced at Deidre and found her still asleep. How long had he been listening to her?

Turning to Aruk, he nodded curtly. "Yes," he said, "I am. Thank you." He looked toward the audience. The students had begun to trickle out, the excitement of the delivery having obviously passed. Mosel found his family still sitting in their row. Father met his eye with a frown, and Mosel returned it with one of his own. Father motioned to him to join them in the stands, but Mosel shook his head.

He knew Father would not dare violate protocol by coming to the delivery floor, despite the operation being complete. With a weary satisfaction, he knew that as long as he stayed with Deidre, he would be left alone.

Turning his gaze to Dr. Crusher, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you," he said.

She nodded wearily. "You're welcome." They shared a look.

How his relationship had changed with the good doctor in the past nine months, he reflected. He glanced toward the incubator. Inside, his young daughter slept peacefully, unaware of the havoc her arrival had brought. He smiled slightly. With a nod from Crusher, he approached the incubator and lifted the baby from its swaddles.

Yes, he noted, it certainly was a girl. And she had the most beautiful dew drop on her forehead, still raw from the umbilical connection. Jolted by the sudden movement, she opened her eyes dreamily. Mosel was pleased to note that they were a hazy blue. Or were they grey? He smiled broadly. His baby. He held her gently to his chest and went back to the table.

Beverly watched him as he rocked the baby slightly in his arms. It was a trifle disconcerting, but Mosel was not nearly as intimidating with an infant in his arms. It was a start, at least.

"What are you going to name her?" Beverly asked.

Ellil touched her small lips with his finger. "Gormlaith," he said finally. "A big name for such a tiny girl."

Pleased, she said, "I like it." They exchanged tired smiles.

Ellil settled onto his stool, marveling at his new family. Considering for a moment, he glanced down at his daughter. He listened, carefully, stretching his thought around hers. Fatigued though he was, and still unsure of his new abilities, he extended his mind in concentration. It was too soon for words, of course, but he was curious. He felt a warm flush in his mind and was pleasantly surprised. Though he had expected to find nothing, he discovered instead the first murmurings of comfort in her tiny mind.

As he rocked her slightly against his broad chest, he heard the first stirrings of love, intimate and infinite.

Whatever this new ability was, and however it manifested itself, he would not wish to revoke a second of it. To hell with everything else, this was his baby. And into his mind she whispered her love.


End file.
